


Do it for him

by SizzleItUpWithTaako



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood and Injury, Domestic Fluff, General anxiety and mental health struggles, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Multi, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-01-23 03:42:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21313615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SizzleItUpWithTaako/pseuds/SizzleItUpWithTaako
Summary: Will Draco find kindness in forgiveness and the stress of trying to make amends for the overall good of not only his husband, but himself?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	1. The Burrow

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to This Mess™. This is an idea that struck me at around 11:44 pm and I've not been able to stop thinking about and building on it, so here we go friends!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
> 
> Warnings: As touched on in the tags, going forward, there will be references to past abuses, self harm mentions both past and possibly present, and mental health struggles are right out the gate. I've marked things mature for future content and will add/edit tags as necessary going forward. Trigger warnings and the like are very important and I want to do my best to ensure that I'm doing due diligence.

### 

The first time Draco had set eyes on the burrow had, to his surprise, not only been planned but expected. _Wanted_. Somewhat joyfully, even. Somewhat _truly_ being the operative word, as there had been a considerable amount of convincing needed across the board. He could hardly expect someone’s family to want to invite him over after a long rivalry with, not only several of their children, but their essentially adopted one as well. Or after his father, in a round-about way, nearly got their kids - born and sort of adopted - killed. A couple times.

Or hell, after his father willfully played part in serving their sort of adopted child up to Lor- _Voldemort -- He wasn’t there anymore, didn’t have to be_ _**afraid**_ _anymore_ \-- a number of times. Had forced _him_ into trying to do the same, knowing full well he couldn’t. Though that was hardly an uncommon occurrence within the Malfoy line. Do it until you can manage without feeling ill, then do it better.

The sickening lurch of apparating felt like a mere drop in the ocean of dread that washed over him as they arrived. His clammy hands clenched tight in slightly worn leather gloves, his steely expression set and jaw clenched tightly; though, he didn’t know whether it was to stop himself from vomiting or screaming. 

Wide grey eyes stared with resigned panic out at the burrow from the field they’d landed in, the shrill ringing in his ears interrupted only by the crunch of the thick blanket of snow underfoot as he subconsciously stepped back. The desperate feeling of wanting to go home grasped at him insistently and left him cold as his breath caught in his throat and stuck there.

“Draco…?” 

His name hung in the air for a long moment, all worry and pleading as it fell upon deaf ears. His name puctured the air again, more urgent, more concerned as he turned on his heel and, unbidden, broke into a run. His heart felt as if it were hammering hard against his ribs as his ragged breathing rattled his chest and made the world feel dizzyingly fuzzy. The entire landscape seemed to tilt sideways as he was caught - or maybe fell, and was instead rescued from the impact - and pulled back against a firm chest. Strong arms held him together as inconsolable keening pierced the air, hurting his ears.

They flopped down into the snow clumsily, him in his husband’s lap, and he only recognized the horrid sound to be his own when it as muffled by turning to cling desperately to his spouse. A flurry of, “I c-can’t, I-I can’t, I _can’t_.” fell from his lips as he sobbed loudly, his own voice so, so upsettingly loud in his ears as it echoed throughout the field. He could feel his body shaking, make out the familiar, consoling tones of his husband’s voice, but couldn’t for the life of him push the panic back enough to make out what he was saying. 

They sat in the snow for a long, long time, the early morning sun slowly passing over them and on into early evening. Normally, the Weasley’s would have come looking for them hours ago, but they knew well enough that it would be… Difficult, all around. They were understanding and willing to be kind and patient, if a bit apprehensively. 

With each soft kiss to the top of his head, his cheeks and nose, he had finally began to quiet. A welcome development, he was sure, though his husband was patient and did not protest; merely rubbed his back in slow, soothing circles and gently sang half-remembered chart-toppers to him. 

At some point, his husband had reluctantly removed both of their gloves to hold his hands, skin to skin, and Draco finally calmed. The cold was biting and he tried to protest, but he was met with reassuring kisses that melted away his train of thought. 

The cold was biting and he _really_ didn’t want his sweet, kind husband to have to suffer, but physical contact always helped. Always reminded him, irrevocably, that his husband was still here, still with him. They both knew they’d be in that field well into the night otherwise.

It wasn’t until he’d stopped shaking, however, that they got up. Draco looked exhausted and his husband looked worried, as he often did after one of his panic attacks. Draco’s lower lip trembled as he stared hard at the snow, feeling his face flush with a mixture of embarrassment and shame. He wanted to apologize, as he often did. To try and explain, insist that he wasn’t crazy, it was simply that everything about the house itself, where they _were_ was just too loud. Too much. He knew it would fall on deaf ears, however. 

His husband knew he wasn’t crazy. He _knew_ certain places, things were hard for Draco. Too loud, too painful, too full up of feeling so sharp that he couldn’t handle it and had to distance himself. He _**knew**_ that Draco wasn’t crazy, and he loved him. He loved him _so_ much. He was so patient with him that Draco often wondered if he was in some incredibly elaborate coma. It seemed inhuman, the amount of patience that his husband not only possessed, but reserved just for him. _Just_ for him. 

Instead, he bit his lip hard and shut his eyes against the fresh tears that had begun to well up, sighing through his nose sharply as he willed his nerves to remain still. “I love you,” he said, once he was able to open his eyes again, his small smile all fragility, all anxiety. “Thank you.”

It felt like the summer sun was shining down upon him, warming him as his husband smiled back at him calmly. “Of course, love. I love you, too.” The kiss that followed as his warm, charming husband held his sore cheeks with his cold hands was all tenderness and love, followed by more and more until Draco was far too red in the face. He was all shy smiling as he held his husband’s hand once more, red up to his ears as he carefully tucked their entwined hands into his pocket in an effort to warm them for the arduous walk ahead.

Draco hadn’t realized quite how far out into the fields they’d made it until he could just barely make out the footprints of where they’d landed much, much earlier in the day. Still a _considerable_ ways away from the burrow. He frowned as his husband pulled his wand from a coat pocket and quietly uttered, “_Lumos_.” to light their way. Draco’s lingering gaze must have caught his attention, for the reassuring squeeze to his hand. “It’s alright, love. We’re almost there, I promise.” He did his best to push back the lingering worry and smile bravely for him.

Arriving at the burrow was a different wave of stress altogether. As his husband put his wand away, it was finally hitting Draco all over again that they were there, they’d finally made it. That they’d be there for a _**while**_. They’d been invited, true, but that presented a certain level of interaction that was expected. Wanted… Allegedly. He couldn’t help but wonder if they’d ever forgiven him. He knew it would have been far too much to hope they’d forgiven his family and, in truth, he hadn’t forgiven his family yet either. But… Surely the Weasley’s must have put the past behind them in order to have even considered extending an invitation to him. At the very least, for his husband’s sake. It had broken his heart, having to be apart from them for so long.

His husband, his caring, loving, funny husband turned to him as they arrived on the doorstep and kissed his forehead tenderly. “Just hold on to my hand, alright? I’m right here love, I promise. You’ll do great.” he said, smiling. Draco had only been able to manage an awkward, jerky nod in response doing his best to smile once more, despite the worry in his eyes. They were essentially the only family his husband _had_. He wanted so badly to at least try, for him. The worn door swung open before his husband could knock a second time and the thick scent of mulling spices and baked goods washed over them, as his husband and by extension himself, were pulled in off the stoop.


	2. electric boogaloo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends and neighbors and welcome to Part Two of this separate holiday mess that I've been working on. This one is a lil more slow going, but we sure are truckin'!
> 
> Trigger Warnings/Content Warnings: Very mild, brief subconscious self harm, previous suicide attempts mentioned, past mental and emotional abuse (parental) referenced.

### 

“Blimey, Harry, there you are! We’d been wondering for ages when you’d turn up, mate! We thought we’d have to send out a search party once the sun started setting.” Ron chortled, paying no mind to Draco as he pulled Harry into a tight hug. Not that Draco could blame him, really; it had been years, unfortunately. Prefaced with many more of longstanding dislike and fighting of their own, it was really no surprise when things had left off on an especially sour note. One of Draco’s larger regrets was the pain that it had caused Harry in turn. 

“Oh, no need to worry yourselves, it was just travelling. It’s been a while since either of us have apparated quite so far, but we made it in one piece.” Harry offered easily, grinning. Draco stepped back slightly to give them some space and turned a bit to look around. He’d never imagined he’d actually get to see the burrow at any point

“Far? How long have you lot been travelling?” Ron asked, frowning. Draco mirrored the expression, though he didn’t turn to look at them. Harry still hadn’t told anyone that didn’t strictly need to know where they lived. Draco thoroughly enjoyed the silence it brought, but he knew it was hard on Harry, not having people ‘round to visit more often. He squeezed Harry’s hand gently as he leaned forward to peek around a corner.

“A good several hours, actually, but it’s nothing to fret over, honestly.”

There was a long pause as Ron mulled over what to say and Harry politely allowed the space, instead busying himself with removing his jacket. “‘M sorry it was such a long trip,” Ron said finally, clapping Harry on the shoulder. “If you’d prefer, we’ve got more than enough t’floo you both home when you’re ready.”

“Aye, cheers mate.”

The warmth and creek of the burrow was a more than welcome, familiar sight for Harry. For a long time, it had been one of the closest things to a home that he’d felt he had. There were hundreds upon hundreds of some of the absolute best memories he had folded into these walls, and having to be away from his home, his family for so long had been absolutely devastating. 

“Malfoy.” The way it was said, it was…. Cordial, despite being curt. Draco couldn’t help but freeze on the spot, his now empty hand curling into a tense fist, nails biting into the soft skin of his palm as a sickening wave of anguish washed over him the way it always did upon having to hear that name. He didn’t see the blistering look shot in Ron’s direction, though he had no doubt there was one.

“Potter, actually, if we absolutely _must_ use surnames.” he said, bristling, though there was little heat in it as his voice came out rather hoarse. The words had spilled out before he’d even managed to process enough to turn back to turn back to them It had been quite some time since he’d had to fill in for the role everyone was accustomed to him playing. One of the perks of having a kind and patient spouse, he was sure. 

Ron was looking rather guilty by the time he did turn back to the pair and he almost felt bad for the look he’d definitely gotten from Harry, who wasted no time in turning to help Draco take off his jacket and usher him further into the house, towards the kitchen. The burrow was considerably bigger than he had imagined it would be, though about as crowded as he’d guessed, given the great number of Weasley children, and now grandchildren that filled the home for the holidays. 

There was an elated chorus of, “Harry!”, as they entered and Draco could practically _hear_ Harry smiling beside him. More hugs were exchanged and Draco managed to wiggle free to allow for the small sea of ginger to swarm around Harry. His husband had offered a brief, apologetic smile, but he simply waved it off as he stepped back, folding his hands neatly behind his back to wait and watch on with Ron, who had shuffled in behind them sheepishly. It was overall not something he’d have thought would be on the roster for life experiences, certainly, but it wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. It was rather charming, even, getting to see Harry smile so brilliantly as a handful of small children cheered and tried to climb onto him while he dissolved into laughter, doing his best to aid their efforts. 

Draco couldn’t help his own small smile as they watched in silence, though he tensed as it was broken after a long moment. “Listen, I… I’m sorry, about earlier.” Ron said, visibly uncomfortable as he rubbed the back of his neck. The discomfort only seemed to increase as Draco turned to stare at him owlishly, eyebrows raised. “We… I.... It’s just… I didn’t mean anything by it, it was just a force of habit. We’re happy t’have you here.” Ron managed after a minute, struggling to find the right words. He’d gone red up to his ears the more Draco simply listened, not accustomed to quite that level of undivided attention, but refused to look back over at the blonde. For a long moment, the words hung between them and it was only when Ron looked as if he were about to bolt that Draco spoke.

“Thank you.” he said, turning back to watch his husband. Harry was busy pretending to be a troll with three of the handful of shrieking, giggling children clinging to him. The sincerity in his voice was unmistakable and Ron had to quickly remind himself not to gawk, instead offering a curt nod. The pair watched on for a moment more before either spoke again, the non-silence being broken this time by Draco. “Harry’s… He’s missed this. Being here, seeing all of you. It’s been… Difficult for him. It’s really nice to see him so happy.”

“It’s not as if we didn’t want him around.” Ron scoffed, shaking his head. “Once a Weasley, always a Weasley. He knows that better than anyone.” Draco merely hummed in response, brows furrowing as he subconsciously began picking at the scarred, irritated skin of his hands behind his back. It was far too early to be getting into arguments, considering they'd just walked through the door, but it was apparently something that was going to be inevitable. He’d be fine. He could manage. They could both be civil about it and let Harry, who was now partially buried under the small mountain of children, have his fun. “He wanted to be.” Draco sighed.

At that, Ron frowned deeply and folded his arms across his chest, the air around them feeling rapidly cooler by the minute. “No one told him he had to go. None of _us_ wanted him to leave.” Ron said cooly. The implication wasn’t even thinly veiled and Draco tried his best not to bristle, but he couldn’t help flinching as his nails dug sharply into the back of his hand, just barely breaking the skin.

“I suppose you think I did?” Draco asked tepidly, adjusting his hands to squeeze one another tightly instead. He didn’t want to unravel again. Or worse, worry Harry. He was doing _fine_. He knew there would be questions, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. He just had to keep calm and try his best.

“...Did you?” Surprisingly, the question wasn’t posed with as much accusatoriation as Draco might have expected. Not yet, anyway. The vulnerability behind Ron’s words did not go unnoticed. It was something they all had to be wondering, Draco was sure. It was easy to imagine a Malfoy stealing something or someone away for their own gain, after all. He was hardly a stranger to the implication and expectation, as being born into the Malfoy family tended to have that effect, but he couldn’t help but laugh. The idea of _anyone_ managing to steal Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world away from anything was absolutely ridiculous.

Ron bristled at the laughter and looked about to say something before Draco cut him off. “Of course not.” he said, shaking his head. “How could anyone want to take _more_ family from him? He’s suffered that particular loss more than enough.” They both knew this to be true, though Ron still seemed somewhat skeptical. It was to be expected, he supposed; they had only just recently agreed to be civil, for Harry’s sake. “I’m not _heartless_.”

Before he could think better of it, Ron snorted and Draco sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. “I can recall a _few_ occasions that would disprove that in a heartbeat.” Ron retorted, lifting a hand to list them off on his fingers. “_Meeting_ Harry our first year and immediately slagging me off based on financial standing, calling Hermione a mudblood a whole heap of times, pitching a fit after being a total prat to have Hagrid sacked and Buckbeak _killed_ our third year, badgering Harry with pretending to be bloody _dementors_\--” Ron continued, eyes growing wide with exasperation with each point.

“_Yes, I know,_” Draco snapped, cursing himself as a few heads turned to look at them warily, watching a moment before hesitantly turning back. “I know.” he sighed. “I never said that I wasn’t horrific, especially as a child. What I meant was that his decision was not at my behest. I never _wanted_ him to suffer, because _of course I wouldn't._"

Ron looked unconvinced. "Right, right and I'm sure whatever was driving your younger self to offend, hurt or upset as many people as possible just all went away then? Just wipe off the slate and suddenly everything's sunshine?"

There was a notable pause before Draco replied. Ron looked on the verge of impatience as Draco took in a deep breath, grimacing as the blond held up a hand to silence whatever thought might have been forthcoming as he breathed out sharply through his nose. "I simply didn’t know better growing up because I wasn’t _taught_ better. My will and status were things to be inflicted upon the world and… The world had simply always bent to it.”

“Yes, I can only imagine being wealthy and having all and sundry lay itself out before you to be such a burden.” Ron snorted, shaking his head. “Poor you, truly.”

“My family’s wealth was not mine, of which I was always kept well aware. I was just something to be dressed up in finery and paraded about. I was a status symbol, like all of their other possessions. Particularly towards the end…” he said, pointedly staring at the floor as he avoided Ron’s gaze. He didn’t have to look at him to know he was glaring, he could practically feel it boring into him. “I didn’t get to choose what I did, and I didn't want to lose my own family by being even more of a disappointment to them. I didn’t have anything else, because I didn't know anything else. I hadn’t been permitted to have a world outside of what _they_ wanted. In the end, all going along with their plans accomplished was delaying the inevitable. You’re hardly the only one who wasn’t thrilled about my marriage.” 

Draco hadn’t realized that a hush had fallen over the room until he felt a gentle kiss pressed to his temple, followed by warm arms looping around him. He was certain that there was some sort of silent argument full of exchanged glares and glowers going on, but he simply didn’t have any more energy to devote to tuning in or taking part in it. He released his slightly injured hands from behind his back and looped his arms around Harry, who was warm against him as he buried his face in his husband’s shoulder. The increasingly familiar feeling of wanting to go home washed over him once more, though he did his best to push it back. He knew Harry would take him back the _moment_ he said it and while he couldn’t deny that it was incredibly tempting, he couldn’t bare the thought of cutting things so short. They’d only just arrived and Harry had so been looking forward to it.

After a moment, Draco let himself be ushered into a quieter portion of the house, Harry’s hand resting comfortingly on the small of his back. They landed in a cozy living room adorned with an overstuffed couch and comfortable chairs, all draped in blankets and dotted with lovingly embroidered cushions and he wasted no time in curling right back up to Harry as they sat on the couch. Distantly, they ignored the sounds of arguing erupting from the kitchen upon their departure. 

“I’ll have a word with him, I promise,” Harry began, frustration evident in his tone as his hold on Draco tightened briefly, easing after a moment as he sighed. “But more importantly, are you alright, love? I should’ve been paying more attention, I’m sorry--” he continued, surprised by the interruption as Draco shifted enough to pull him into a kiss.

“_Don’t_.” Draco said firmly, holding Harry’s cheeks in his hands. “Nobody is at fault, least of all _you_. You were enjoying getting to see your family again, which is well deserved. It would be hardly fair to expect them to not have questions or polarizing feelings about my being here. It will just… take some getting used to.” he said in what he hoped was a helpful tone. “I’ll be alright, I promise.” Harry merely frowned back at him worriedly, a million and a half words burning his tongue as he fought to work out which ones to voice first, so Draco kissed him. Then he kissed him again and again until the fires were put out, at least for the time being. 

After several more kisses, Harry gave in with a sigh and brought a hand up to rest atop one of Draco’s, leaning in to the touch. “Are you _sure?_” he asked, tone gentle as ever persistent worry continued to furrow his brow. Draco slowly rubbed his thumb over Harry’s cheekbone and nodded, his own tension easing as Harry finally relaxed. “I promise.” he murmured, smiling against Harry’s chest as he was pulled in close once more.

They lingered on the couch for a long time, Draco half laying on Harry, humming contentedly when his husband slowly began to rub his back. He was lulling drowsily into considering sleep before Harry spoke again. “Thank you,” He murmured, resting his cheek against the top of Draco’s head. There was a sleepy, non-committal grunt in response, which caused a low chuckle to rumble through his chest. “I know it’s not the easiest thing in the world, coming here, but… I couldn’t imagine being here without you.”

Draco wiggled in his grasp enough for his hand to find Harry’s free hand, lacing their fingers together and slowly rubbing his thumb along the back. “Of course darling, you’d do the same in a heartbeat if I asked.” Draco said, his tone soft as he stifled a yawn, halfway between dozing and rejoining the waking world. “Assuming my parents had any inclination to speak to either of us, or even look at me.” he snorted as an afterthought, eyes sliding shut once more. 

The deterioration of Draco’s relationship with his family had been a sad, horrific affair and was a touchy subject even before he’d been stripped of all things tied to the Malfoy name. The fallout had come riding in on the coattails of being forced into taking on the dark mark and only exacerbated with the series of mental breakdowns that had followed. By the end of the war, they’d all been changed irrevocably, but Draco could hardly even stand to look at his family, much less listen to them drawl on and try to act as if things were in any way normal.

It was only a few short months after the war before Draco’s first trip to St. Mungos had signified the extent of the deterioration of his mental and emotional health and set the tone for the following second, third and fourth visits. With each visit, things had only gotten worse and worse. Between his mother making his desperate attempts to escape about herself - ‘_You must think I’m a terrible mother to do such things_’ and ‘_Do you truly hate me so much as to run away?_’ being the more common phrases - and his father outright blaming Draco’s perceived failings for their current predicament, he considered it a wonder he’d managed to even survive the first couple years after the war. It was on the fifth visit that Lucius had decided that he’d simply had enough and, after an uproarious, screaming argument during which Draco had spent most of his time in tears, he gave Draco strict instructions not to return home until ‘this mess’ was sorted.

A feat that would have been easier had he had any money to his name, or anywhere else to go. Or, hell, if he’d had anyone to rely on, even. The few relationships that he’d had with those that had survived the war had crumbled largely under the losses of the war, falling away further and further as they all found themselves scrambling to sort through the rubble left in the wake of their respective families having been on the _wrong_ side of history. Things had only fallen further and further out of reach as his own misery had overtaken him, causing him to lapse in appearance and response entirely for at least a year prior. He hadn’t been wholly surprised when the letters stopped, but their loss had been sorely noted all the same.

It had been as much a surprise to Draco as it had to Harry when he’d turned up outside his home one afternoon, looking like death warmed over as he trembled on the stoop. He hadn’t been sure why he’d gone - Harry was truly the _last_ person he should be asking favors from - or indeed why Harry had even bothered letting him in, but… He was glad he had. It was genuinely one of the only good decisions he’d ever made. In fact, he’d be lying if he’d said that _most_ of the handful of his Good Choices didn’t involve Harry. His best choice to date having been to marry him. He hummed in agreement with himself at the sentiment, his hold on Harry's hand loosening ever so slightly as Harry’s grumbling under his breath - something about Draco’s parents; undoubtedly nothing good - drifted into the background.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading! I'd love to hear what you thought, so please leave a comment and I'll see y'all in the next one!


End file.
